


Jackson the Idiot

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Series: The Bodyguard [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Jackson being annoyed, Jackson needs self-preservation skills, Mark being a guard, Mark is angry, Sassy Mark, and good at his job, the bad guys are stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22713283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: Turns out, Mr CEO Jackson Wang takes security very seriously when it comes to his son, but not so much when it comes to himself. Mark finds out. Mark is not happy.The bad guys are more of a minor distraction in making Jackson see sense than anything else.
Series: The Bodyguard [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631491
Comments: 37
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This'll probably make most sense when read after the first two in the series, though I suppose you could also read it as a stand-alone.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s not unusual for Jaebeom to call, though to go as far as to say Mark’s expecting it would be lying. He’s literally walking down the Wang’s front steps, having just handed off BamBam-duty to Taemin, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. The sky is open and dark, a few brave stars peeking through, meaning the evening is crispy cold and Mark shrugs deeper into his leather jacket. Plentiful lights surround the Wang residence to ensure Mark has no trouble answering his phone while digging his keys out of his pocket at the same time. He unlocks his car with a click.

“Hey Jaebeom-ah,” he smiles, opening the driver’s side door. “What’s up?”

“Is someone watching BamBam?” Jaebeom cuts in all business, freezing Mark in place with one foot lifted. He immediately feels uneasy and his eyes fly around the premises, trying to find the threat.

“Taemin’s watching him,” he answers just as clipped, “why?”

“Good, that means you’re off the clock.”

“Should I not be.” Mark demands, feet firmly planted on the ground and ready to start sprinting back to the house. Jaebeom makes a confused sound, then chuckles.

“Wait, no. BamBam’s fine. This isn’t about him.”

Mark groans, sagging in relief and leaning on his still open car door. “What the hell, Jaebeom. Who spit in your coffee?”

“Jackson,” Jaebeom answers drily and Mark blinks at the stones making up the driveway, then brings his head up to frown at the wooden gates.

“I thought you two were friends?” he cautions. Jaebeom sighs again.

“Exactly,” he grouches, “and my _friend_ neglected to tell me that he’s been receiving death-threats to both BamBam _and_ himself.”

The air doesn’t get any colder, but a sudden chill runs down Mark’s spine. He grips the phone tighter. His voice comes out harsher than he intended. “What the hell happened.”

Jaebeom grunts, then his voice comes through, drier than ever. “Someone rammed his car and put him and his driver in the hospital.”

Mark blinks, then he lets out a very high and disbelieving laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says, something close to anger curling in his chest as he drops into the driver’s seat, one foot still outside and the car door wide open. “Did you just say someone _rammed Jackson’s car?_ As in, on purpose?”

“Yep,” Jaebeom pops the ‘p’. “A four-man goon-squad jumped on his car with baseball bats afterwards. They would’ve gotten in too if the police hadn’t shown up, _on time_ for once. He said, and I quote, ‘it was just an accident’.” Jaebeom lets out a harsh sigh. “The idiot’s been getting like three threats a day, for _weeks_ , and he calls it an accident.”

Mark keeps blinking. He leans back in his chair and laughs again, convinced this is all a very lucid dream. “That’s not possible,” he says, letting out another disbelieving chuckle. “Jaebeom-ah, he hired _me_ , for his _son_ , basically the second someone looked at BamBam the wrong way.” He gazes out the windshield, eyes going over the wooden gate and security cameras and unsure whether he’s shocked or furious.

“I’ve been here for _months_ ,” he adds heatedly, “for _months_ , Jaebeom, because there were five unconfirmed threats to BamBam’s person. There’s security _around the clock_ here, hell there’s cameras _everywhere!”_ He sweeps out an arm, getting more and more worked up because it _doesn’t make sense_.

“And you’re telling me that the guy who hired _me_ to guard his son, doesn’t take threats seriously?! Are you kidding me?!” He’s shouting now, anger sharp in his chest and eyes glaring at the steering wheel.

“Basically,” Jaebeom breathes, then he chuckles without mirth. “Honestly, it’s so utterly _Jackson_ , that I’m not sure whether I’m pissed at him for not telling me or pissed at myself for not figuring it out.”

It snaps Mark out of his thoughts and he frowns, finally pulling his left leg in and snapping the door closed with clipped movements. “What do you mean, ‘utterly Jackson’?”

Jaebeom sounds confused. “The not telling? He’s my friend and I love the guy, but he has a horrible sense of self-preservation.”

From what Jaebeom is saying, it would seem so. Mark snorts, shifting in his seat and buckling himself in with one hand. “Who’d have thought,” he responds airily, “a CEO-millionaire who _doesn’t_ think the world revolves around him.”

“Uhm, no?” Jaebeom cautions, then his voice gains a touch of anger. “Jackson’s _never_ been like that. He worries about everyone _but_ himself, and I _really_ should have known he wasn’t about to change that even when he got his name plastered in every newspaper and magazine throughout the country.” He lets out a weary sigh. “Jackson’s an idiot, but he’s _never_ been self-absorbed.”

It's silent, the words both a shock and utterly obvious. Mark stares ahead, unseeing, because he should have noticed that. Maybe he did, but he’d lumped Jackson onto the CEO-pile in his head along with every fat-cat and multi-million won company owner he’s met (there being quite a few) and left it at that. The fact that Jackson seemed to be much more … _human_ , for a lack of better word, than all of the others had been an anomaly Mark had been unconsciously ignoring in favor of looking after BamBam’s security. Mainly because he’d been sure _someone else_ had been doing the same for Jackson at his company.

Apparently, he’s never been more wrong.

“Are you honestly telling me that _Jackson Wang_ doesn’t have any personal security,” he says with a rough voice, sudden jitters in his stomach.

Jaebeom barks out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, you don’t know Jackson _at all_ yet, do you?” It stabs, but Jaebeom keeps talking, resigned this time. “I’m going to figure out how to get it into his head that he needs to get protection, _personal protection,_ but for now... Look, I’m about to be on call, but Jackson’s at the hospital and his driver’s got a broken leg. The idiot wants to call a damn _cab_ to get home.”

Mark freezes, insides almost physically growing cold. “He wants to what?” he says hollowly. “Jaebeom, someone just tried to kill him. Doesn’t he have the slightest sense of what that means!?”

“No,” Jaebeom says coldly. “Jackson’s always had difficulty with grasping his own importance, which is why I’m asking you, as a friend, can you _please_ make sure my other friend gets home without further injury.”

Mark’s already starting his car, earpiece in and phone in his pocket. Profanities fly through his head at the thought of _Jackson_ and _cab_. My god, this man needs a reality check. “Which hospital.” He growls, throwing his car into gear and holding the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

“General,” Jaebeom says gratefully. “I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

“Tell him to _stay put!”_ Mark snaps, eyes narrowed at the road, which has done absolutely nothing wrong, but Mark’s _pissed_. At himself for being blind, at Jackson for being blind, and at the world for throwing crap at people who _don’t deserve it._ “I swear, if he puts a single _foot_ out of that hospital without me there, I’m going to-” he cuts himself off, biting his lip and taking a turn too tight to be legal. He doesn’t care.

Jaebeom is silent, then says amused. “Glad to know I’m not the only one who cares.”

“I don’t _care,”_ Mark points out, angry at a red light simply because he can. “I’m appalled at the blatant _lack_ of common sense.”

“Whatever you say,” Jaebeom sighs, probably shrugging. “Just get him home, okay?”

“Oh, I will,” Mark mutters, still glaring at the road, gaining on car after car. “’Calling a cab’ … does he _actually_ think he’s untouchable?”

“Thanks, Mark,” Jaebeom sounds like he’s smiling. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me _two,_ ” he reminds him, then lets out a breath and glances at the little digital clock. “Ten minutes,” he tells Jaebeom, turning the steering wheel and racing passed another car. “Tell him to just _sit down_ for ten minutes.”

Jaebeom chuckles. “Will do.”

They hang up and Mark keeps _not_ adhering to the speed-limit. At one point, he blatantly ignores a red light when there’s precisely _zero_ traffic from either side of the road. (He does check, continuously. He’s being fast, not reckless.) He makes it to the hospital in nine minutes and parks in front of the general entrance. The anger comes swooping back in when Mark steps out, his car bleeping angrily because the engine’s still running and his lights are still on, and he spots Jackson. The man is _outside_ , on a _bench_ , in _plain sight._ It’s a little ways from the entrance, obviously for people needing to be picked up by cab or family. Jackson’s currently the only one outside, the electric doors showing a dozen people milling around inside, but even then. Jackson’s head is tipped back with the furry edges of his hood shielding his eyes, legs crossed at the ankles and hands stuffed into his jacket. He looks _asleep_ , and Mark slams his car door shut with enough force to rock the vehicle.

“Hey!” he yells, loud and furious. He knows he’s being rude, knows stalking passed the nose of his car and glaring at Jackson is hardly befitting of this whole boss/employee thing Mark’s been attempting to salvage since the park-fiasco last week, but Mark’s _pissed_. Especially when Jackson doesn’t respond, doesn’t even _twitch_ , and Mark can march up right beside him without Jackson even opening his eyes.

_Anyone_ could have marched up and _stabbed_ Jackson in the past ten minutes, could have killed him without any real trouble, which only adds to the fury burning Mark’s stomach. Before he can curb it, his hand shoots out and yanks Jackson’s hood down, efficiently startling the other awake. He really had been asleep.

Mark seethes. “Are you dumb!” he snaps. “Have you been _tricking_ the world somehow into thinking you’re a genius!”

Jackson blinks at him, slowly. Then he frowns. There are three stitches above his right eye and numerous small cuts on the right side of his face, Mark now catching a glimpse of the bloodied collar underneath his jacket. His anger drains away and simmers, concern peeking through when Jackson seems confused to see him.

Mark sighs, eyes still narrowed. “Did the doctors clear you to go home, or where you stubborn about that too?”

“I thought that would take longer,” Jackson finally croaks, squinting at Mark despite the lack of any heavy lighting around. “Felt like barely a minute.”

“Because you were _sleeping,”_ Mark grouches. He rakes a hand through his hair, jitters still stuck in his limbs because Jackson was sleeping outside in plain sight after people just came at him with baseball bats. _Fuck._

Jackson pulls himself up, grimacing as he gets to his feet, then he grunts. “I barely closed my eyes.”

“You were _asleep,”_ Mark repeats, eyeing Jackson critically. “You didn’t hear me drive up or walk over. Did they even check you for a concussion?” His hands almost move up to check Jackson’s head before the other sends him an annoyed glare, shivering when a light wind picks up.

“I’m fine,” he says with a rough voice. “Kang got the worst of it.”

Which hardly means Jackson’s _fine_ , but Mark doesn’t like how exposed they are just standing here. They either need to go inside where he can keep an eye on corners, or get into the car.

“Did the doctors clear you?” He asks again, taking another quick stock of their surroundings. The high buildings across from them are a glaring security threat, not to mention the silent driveway. Jackson was _outside_ , _alone_ , for _ten minutes_. Mark wants to punch him.

Jackson glares balefully and runs a hand over his exhausted face, hissing when he touches the stitches. “Yes, I’m _fine._ A scratch and some bruises, nothing worth worrying over.”

“Great,” Mark pushes out, not agreeing in the slightest, “then get in.”

Jackson blinks at him.

“The _car,”_ Mark stresses, “get in the _car_.”

Jackson begrudgingly complies, shuffling to the vehicle and gingerly lowering himself into the backseat. Mark watches the whole affair with narrowed eyes, giving the seemingly empty entrance driveway another sweeping look, then follows Jackson. This time, he may _want_ to slam the door, but Jackson looks rattled enough for one night.

“Buckle in,” Mark says out of habit. Jackson snorts from behind him.

“I’m ahead of you on that one.”

They fall into an uneasy silence, Jackson tipping his head back but shifting too much to actually be asleep this time. There’s enough traffic to keep Mark occupied, but he still finds himself glancing back to check on Jackson without proper cause. It takes a few minutes before Jackson breaks the silence, voice tired and exasperated as he cracks his eyes open to slits.

“Tuan, where are we going?”

Mark shoots him a cold look, then focuses back on the road. “Oh _now_ you pay attention to your surroundings,” he mutters.

“We just took four right turns, one right after the other,” Jackson drags himself up, blinking at the streetlights. “Why are we driving in circles?”

“I’ve got a better question for you,” Mark answers drily, “why is the car behind us doing the exact _same?”_ He gives Jackson a look and the other man frowns.

“You seriously think we’re being followed?”

“I seriously think you need to tell me what kind of threats you’ve been receiving, and who the hell rammed your car.”

“You’re paranoid,” Jackson huffs, dropping his head against the headrest. “You’re not even my guard or whatever. Jaebeom called you because he worries too much, that’s all.”

Mark takes a random left, noting the white car behind them copies the move at the last second, headlights glaring in the rearview mirror. He curses in his head.

“Oh, I think Jaebeom’s spot on with his worrying,” he mumbles distractedly. Then he raises his voice, mapping out the road ahead. “Who rammed your car?”

Jackson groans, eyes once again closed. “Just some random guys looking for a fight. I just happened to be in the car they hit. That’s all.”

Mark seriously doubts it. The white car has been on them from when they left the hospital. It’s being conspicuous, so no one too high up, but enough for a stubborn CEO who somehow can’t see he’s in danger.

“How many guys were there?” he follows-up, trying to keep Jackson talking despite already knowing. The headlights keep inching closer and Mark wonders what it is they’re waiting for. He decides he doesn’t want to find out.

“Just, four, I think?” Jackson huffs. “I didn’t recognize them, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Mark isn’t, but that’s beside the point. “What did they do? Did they say anything?” He’s checking potential side-streets and alleys, thinking it might be time to ‘get caught’. So far, none of them are dead-ends.

Jackson sighs agitated. “Let it go, Tuan. They simply hit our car and started wailing on it with baseball bats. Nothing was said, no threats were made, just a bunch of guys who felt like starting a fight. I’m sure they didn’t even know _I_ was in that car.”

“You’re serious,” Mark can’t help his flat tone as he glares at Jackson’s tired face. “You honestly think that was all one big cosmic coincidence?”

“I think I hired you to guard my son,” Jackson snaps, eyes small but angry, “and that Jaebeom meddles too much. Now, start heading home, or let me get a damn cab.”

“True,” Mark shoots back icily, seeing a dead-end sign on an alley just up ahead. “You did hire me to guard BamBam. So how about you let me make sure his father doesn’t _get himself killed-”_ he glares at Jackson, showing the other just how angry he is with this whole blasé attitude, “which is _literally_ what I do for a living.”

Jackson seems ready to argue with that, lifts his head and opens his mouth in obvious preparation to do so, but Mark’s heard quite enough. Yanking the wheel, he crosses three lanes in one go, timing it perfectly to avoid oncoming traffic, and steers the car for the dead-end. The white car follows with a two second delay, tires squealing as it races to catch up. Mark pretends to be surprised by the wall, ignoring Jackson’s shout as he steps on the breaks in an oh-no-it’s-a-dead-end kind of manner. He leaves about a car length between him and the wall in front, happy to note the space on either side of the car is about a meter. Perfect conditions.

The white car immediately boxes them in, doors opening and five men stepping out. If they’re as new at everything else as they are at tailing someone, Mark is certain this won’t take long. He turns back to Jackson, locking the car doors as he does so.

“Stay inside,” he orders, uncaring of Jackson’s wide eyes or confused face. “Whatever happens, stay inside. Got it?”

Jackson’s blinking shows that, no, he doesn’t, and Mark groans as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and suit jacket. The latter always feels restraining on his shoulders. Taking another quick look in his side-mirrors, three guys are on their left and two on their right. He snatches his black cap and black mouth-cap from the glovebox, putting them on as he glances at Jackson one last time.

“What’s happening,” Jackson demands, eyes wide when he spots the two men taking position at the head lights, another two standing next to the car. “Tuan, what’s- what are you _doing?!”_

“I’m going to take care of this mess,” Mark hisses, done with Jackson’s cluelessness, “and then you and I are going to have a _long_ talk about the implications and repercussions of _death-threats_. Now, stay in the damn _car.”_

With that he turns in his seat, pulling up his legs until his knees are resting against the door. In one go, he palms the car key and clicks the lock off, flings his door open, and plants his feet squarely in the gut of the guy readying to take a swing at his left back window. The man grunts and falls back, head hitting the alley wall as he goes down. Mark’s pleased when he stays down. He shoots out, throwing the car door closed again and clicking the key in his hand. The car beeps, locks closing loud in the alley. The other four men seem surprised someone came out and fumble. It gives Mark time for some theatrics.

Intimidation is a powerful tool.

Without losing momentum, Mark uses the gap between the car’s wheel and body to step onto the hood. Once there, he does a sideways flip onto the roof, ending in a crouch and facing the end of the alley. It’s a relatively easy yet effective demonstration, as proven by the hesitance now on the four men’s faces. They’re in civilian clothing, all between the ages of thirty and forty if Mark had to guess. They regard him with wary eyes, gripping their bats, and in one guy’s case a short chain. Mark smirks. His shirt is stark white in the night and a glaring target, Mark knows, but the fact that his face is practically impossible to make out does more than any menacing outfit ever could.

“Evening,” he says in a loud voice, still crouched on the roof. Number five has taken the place of his fallen comrade and Mark gives the men now standing next to the car a quick once over out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t move his head. “It seems your car is blocking mine, would you mind moving it for me?” He continues pleasantly. “And while you’re at it, you can put away the weapons.” He raps a knuckle on the roof of his car. “I just had the paint re-done.”

Goon on the front left takes a brave step forward, narrowing his eyes at what is surely a giant wrench in whatever plan they had. Mark likes being that wrench.

“You’re the one standing on it!” He shouts, as if it’s an insult. Mark gives a hidden grin, then slowly pushes up so that he is, indeed, standing. None of them move back, but they’re also not attacking.

“I guess so,” Mark crosses his arms, “but then again, it _is_ my car.”

The goons look a little lost at that. Definitely _not_ professionals. Front right (Chain-guy) frowns.

“Your car?” He huffs, anxious but angry. “We saw Jackson Wang get in, so don’t try to play us!”

“I’m not,” Mark replies icily, glaring even though they can’t see. “This is _my car_ , whether Jackson Wang is inside or not.”

“Well then maybe Jackson Wang could step out,” the goon grins, clinking the chains in his hands together. “That way, _your car_ can stay out of it.”

The goon next to the car on the right is dumb enough to try the door. It’s locked, naturally. Mark almost laughs when the man seems put out. He almost laughs in general, at _all_ of them. It’s obvious they’re not here to do any real damage. Just as Mark uses his flips to distract or intimidate, these guys are the physical manifestation of a warning. For starter, they’re still _talking_. Most guys Mark meets in his line of work don’t make it passed two sentences before it all becomes a lot more deadly.

These guys aren’t harmless, but considering with what they could have been, they’re close. Mark stretches his arms above his head and lets out a sigh, dropping until he’s sitting on the roof, leaning back with his arms to the side and legs stretched and crossed at the ankle. It provides him with a good view of all four goons.

“How about you tell me who sent you,” he says amicably, “and then we all part ways as unlikely acquaintances.”

The goon on his near right sneers. “How about we break a few of your bones, circus-freak.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Mark growls back.

“Just give us Jackson,” Chain-goon yells, clearly about to lose his patience. “If you stay out of it, you won’t get hurt!”

“Mister Wang!” The near right one knocks on the tinted windows, peering in with a sneer. “Come out, come out, or we’ll break all of your driver’s little bones!”

It’s the worst thing they could have done, dragging Jackson into it like this, and Mark zeros in on the asshole tapping the window. For a second he wishes the man could see his face, if only because Mark’s been told he looks terrifying when he’s angry. He narrows his eyes and hisses incredulously. “Driver?”

He bodily turns toward the goon still knocking on the window, swinging his legs and hooking his right boot behind the man’s neck, his left one pressing onto the wide-eyed goon’s throat.

“I’m not the driver,” he growls darkly.

The man gasps and splutters, his bat falling to the ground with a clatter as the other three yell in outrage. A quick and sharp kick on the throat has the man’s eyes bulging, breaths wheezing as Mark releases him. The man sinks to the ground. A low whistle from behind has him rolling to the very end of the roof, the bat missing him and leaving a dent in the sleek black body. Mark grimaces.

It takes a simple flip to get behind the goon as the man pulls his bat back for another swing. Mark gets in close, taking away the advantage, and jabs a quick fist into the man’s throat, then knees him in the groin.

That’s three down.

He turns towards the remaining two, strolling passed the man now wheezing and groaning on the dark stone.

“Who sent you?” he repeats.

The last remaining man with a bat bellows, eyes narrowed to slits and face red. He rushes Mark with all the finesse of a charging bull, swinging wide with his bat. It takes a simple duck for the man to stumble due to his momentum, then a firm kick to the knees for him to slam into the wall. He sinks with a groan, bat rolling away uselessly over the cracked cement.

Four down.

Mark pins down the last one with a hidden glare, standing up but not moving closer. The man shoots wide eyes at his fallen comrades, then focuses on Mark with an ashen face.

“Don’t make me repeat myself a third time,” Mark says sharply, boots crunching on loose stones as he shifts into a wider stance.

The man drops his chain with a loud clatter, holding out his hands. “Wait, wait, wait!” He shuffles back, a bead of sweat trailing down from his forehead to the tip of his nose. “There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance, just Jackson and his driver!”

As if that’s supposed to make Mark back off. If anything, he takes a threatening step forward and balls his fists. “I warn-”

“I don’t know! I don’t know who it is! We got an envelope with cash and a request to scare Jackson Wang. To beat him up a little and follow him around for a few weeks. That’s all, I swear!”

Mark scoffs in disbelief. “You went after someone _that_ powerful on nothing but an anonymous letter and some cash?”

The man shrugs and licks his lips. “It was a lot of cash,” he says pleadingly.

Undoubtedly, though people still seem to care more about their life than they do money when given the choice. Mark holds up his right hand and the man flinches. All his earlier bravado crumpled the second his buddies did too.

“Move your car,” Mark ticks off one finger, “stay away from Jackson Wang,” he ticks off another, “tell all your friends to do the same,” he ticks of the final one, “or you’ll be dead within a day.”

The man gulps, hands trembling where he’s still holding them aloft. After a tense second he croaks out desperately. “Who _are_ you?”

Mark grins under his mouth-cap, never taking his mostly hidden eyes off his opponent. “I’m _not_ the driver.”

Without further prompting the goon races to the white car, the rest groaning and shaking as they pull themselves together. Mark unlocks his own car and drops into the driver’s seat, throwing the vehicle into reverse with barely a glance spared at Jackson.

The man is sitting still as a statue in the backseat, eyes drilling a hole into Mark’s head. His silence won’t last long, Mark knows, and he focuses on backing the car out of the alley for now. He almost rams the front of the white car with how he’s pushing, but then they’re clear on the road and Mark turns the wheel to the left, falling back into late-evening traffic. There aren’t many cars left anymore, meaning he can divert some attention to the emotions simmering in the backseat. Mark can almost taste the anger emanating from Jackson, tension palpable. He snaps off his cap and pulls his mouth-cap down, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

Jackson keeps glaring. He drags in a deep breath and speaks with a tight voice. “You locked me in the car.”

Of course, Mark locked him in the car. He glowers at the road as he takes an easy turn. “Did you try to get out?”

“Yes,” Jackson grits out, “but you _locked me in. Why? How?”_

Nevermind the ‘how’. Mark shoots him a cold stare. “Because you tried to get out.”

“They were going to hurt _you_ , to get to _me!”_ Jackson yells. “You’re damn right I wanted to get out!”

“You do realize that’s my _job_ , right!” Mark yells back just as heated. “I am quite literally a shield for a living, it’s what you hired me for!”

Jackson punches the seat in front of him. “Not for me!”

In the next shocked silence, Mark stops abruptly in front of a red light and stares back with wide eyes. His voice drops in volume. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jackson glares at him. “You’re BamBam’s guard, not mine.”

“And why is that?” Mark inquires, turning around fully. He ignores the green light and the car honking behind them, pinning Jackson down with a hot glare. “We both know I’m overqualified to be guarding BamBam, especially when you’ve got people like this after you. So why? Why the _hell_ am I not guarding you?”

Jackson’s answering glare makes him five years older. “Drive,” he responds coldly, “the light’s green.”

The honking car behind them shoots passed, an angry shout coming out. Mark breathes through his nose, turning back to the road and easing the car forward. “One day, you might actually have to start trusting me.”

“Trust goes both ways, _Tuan.”_

It’s a low blow, but Mark begrudgingly admits that Jackson has a point. Maybe he’s not the best at handing out trust, but then he has his reasons. Another glance back reveals a streetlight gliding over Jackson’s face, highlighting the dark cuts in his ashen skin. It’s all for BamBam, Mark reminds himself for the umpteenth time, biting his cheek and cursing in his head. If anything happened to Jackson, BamBam would be inconsolable. It’s Mark’s job to make sure that never happens, no matter his personal feelings.

“Mark,” he states after a long and awkward silence. They’re nearing the house, off the main road and easing gently through side streets, high buildings and walls on either side showing it to be one of the better neighborhoods. Jackson lets out a noise of confusion.

“Mark what?”

“My first name is Mark,” he says with eyes firmly planted on the road. Jackson stays quiet, streetlights intermittently lighting up the car as Mark rolls through their street. The wooden gates become visible on the right, a click on the small black box installed next to the sun visor makes the doors groan into movement. When they’re inside, the lights showing off the trees lining the driveway, bushes clustered in a small garden in a corner on the left, Jackson speaks up.

“Jaebeom said you don’t use your first name with clients.”

Mark sighs. He turns off the engine and keeps his eyes firmly forward in the sudden silence, the house lit up safe and familiar in front. “Did he tell you why?”

Jackson’s jacket shifts and from the lack of answer, Mark guesses he shook his head. He smiles ruefully.

“Let’s just say it’s easier that way, on both sides.”

Jackson sounds resigned. “How is it you can have a whole conversation with a bunch of guys carrying baseball bats, then have no trouble yelling at me, but you clamp up the second I ask something real?”

He’s frowning when Mark finally looks at the rearview mirror.

“I’d ask if you ever lost someone or something, but I already know that’s not true. It’s one of the few things I _do_ know about you. So what on earth are you so scared of?”

Mark holds Jackson’s gaze for two beats longer, then averts his eyes. The other is looking into his soul again, peering with such intensity Mark feels like his secrets are plain on his face.

“Call Jaebeom,” he says finally, “don’t go anywhere without protection. If not for yourself, then do it for BamBam.”

Jackson sighs. “Fine, be all secretive and mysterious. That’s not cliché _at all.”_ He cracks the door open, stepping out into the cold with a shiver, sinking deeper into his jacket. Then he stops and turns back, voice ringing out softly.

“Thank you, Mark.”

The door closes, Jackson hurrying to the house with two steps at a time. Mark watches until he’s inside, then sags into his seat with a groan, balling his shaking hands into white-knuckled fists. It takes him a few minutes until he’s calm enough to drive away, for the sound of Jackson’s voice saying his name to leave his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson may not take threats to his life seriously, but everyone else does. Especially Mark.

“I need you to find someone for me,” is Mark’s greeting when Himchan picks up on the third ring. The line is silent, then the man sighs.

“And who, pray tell, am I scouring the country for this time? Another soccer mom? Teenage delinquents? Did someone give your little charge a noogie without your approval?”

Mark rolls his eyes but ignores the quips. Sarcasm is practically Himchan’s default setting. “Someone’s after Jackson Wang,” he says clipped, “and I need to know who.”

“Really?” Himchan sounds genuinely surprised. “What do we have to work with?”

“White Volkswagen, TH-**-2J. The request was an envelope with cash, so no digital traces. Find out who delivered it and who _they_ work for.”

“Cranking up the difficulty, I see.”

“Stop pretending this is actually a chore for you. You have the whole country’s CCTV at your fingertips.”

Himchan snorts. “Which I’m supposed to be _overseeing_ , not using for your personal vendetta’s.”

“They’re not personal.”

Himchan laughs. “Sure, kiddo.”

“I’m not a _kid.”_ He sighs when Himchan keeps laughing. “Look, can you just put Youngjae on it. I need to know before tomorrow ten p.m.”

“He’ll feel insulted,” Himchan adds merrily. “You know he’ll have those names in a few hours.”

“I’m aware, but I have a day-job. Tell him thanks, and that I’ll get him a box of that wine he loves.”

“And what am I getting?”

Mark grins. “My everlasting gratitude.”

“You’re a brat.”

“A brat who saved your life,” Mark loves to remind him.

“Fine,” Himchan groans, “just stay safe out there, you pain in my ass.”

Mark smiles. “Always.”

As predicted, Mark has an encrypted email waiting in his inbox when he gets up the next day. Its title suggests Youngjae was indeed insulted by the time-limit (‘find something worth my skillset next time’) and Mark snorts. He met Youngjae through Jaebeom, which is how he ended up doing personal security for Bang Yongguk for a month. It was intense. Not the least because someone was trying to kill Yongguk every chance they got, but also because they started to gun for Himchan, Yongguk’s long-standing boyfriend, half-way through.

The whole experience was a never-ending headache and adrenaline rush, but it resulted in one of the country’s most influential people basically adopting Mark. (He’ll never understand how that happened, but Youngjae keeps laughing about it because they’re brothers now. Whatever.) It means he has a very helpful and direct link to life-saving footage that would take their company a day to acquire, at the least. Not to mention Youngjae’s services are free-of-charge in this deal, which more than makes up for having to check in every other week or so to let Himchan know he’s alive and _fine._

All in all, Mark feels it worked out perfectly. It certainly could have been worse.

The following day starts like any other, except for Jackson’s new driver waiting outside when Mark eases his car through the gates. As if possessing a sixth sense, Jaebeom texts him just as he turns off the engine.

**He’s from Bangtan. Young but good. Namjoon’s personal recommendation.**

Which does something to quell the storm brewing in Mark’s chest, but he still narrows his eyes at the babyface. The boy is waiting patiently next to a new car. He’s wearing the standard suit, stance relaxed but eyes alert as he glances at Mark. The older deliberately gets out slowly, his own expression unreadable as he takes careful stock of this ‘recommendation’. It takes him a moment to realize he’s hardly in any position to oppose should he feel this guy is inadequate (which he probably is because _young_ is an understatement), but he walks over with precise steps anyway, slamming the car door a little louder than normal.

The guy doesn’t even twitch, simply follows Mark with his eyes and a barely-there smile. Then he hitches up an eyebrow.

“Jaebeom-hyung said you might be like that.”

Mark keeps his surprise off his face, then stuffs his anger at Jaebeom for having talked about him behind his back to _this guy_ deep down. “Like what?” He responds coolly, stopping a friendly distance away and dropping his hands in his pockets.

The guy smirks, boyish looks not enough to hide the sharp glint in his eyes or the way he subtly shifts. Mark’s almost impressed.

“Protective,” the boy answers calmly, then he holds out a hand. “I’m Jimin, 23, and you might want to think twice about doing that fancy move you’ve been planning ever since you walked up.” His eyes flit to Mark’s feet, then back up and he grins again. “I doubt it’ll end the way you expect.”

_Cheeky bastard._

Mark begrudgingly shakes his hand, still not giving him a smile but relaxing his right leg. He’d indeed been trying to see if Jimin would pick up on his desire to kick his legs out from under him, and part of him is sort of impressed.

He still doesn’t like the kid. Not at all.

The front door opens, Jackson and BamBam coming out mid-conversation. The CEO still sports the many cuts from yesterday, though his color is much better after a night’s rest. Mark scans them both, feeling something settle as he notes BamBam’s happy laugh and Jackson’s wide smile as the man locks up. Then Mark cuts his eyes to Jimin, seeing the younger also looking at the little family. Mark knows they should be allies, is aware Namjoon has been running Bangtan for a decade and is one of the most trustworthy people Jaebeom could have turned to (Namjoon is a close friend of Jackson, and a good colleague of Jaebeom’s for more than six years), but still.

He leans a little closer to Jimin, keeping his eyes on Jackson and BamBam, and murmurs. “You don’t have to like him, but you better do your job properly.”

In the pretense of opening the passenger door, Jimin turns around, bringing them close enough Mark can smell the lingering coffee on Jimin’s breath. The boy glares and whispers back.

“I owe Namjoon my life and then some. This guy is his best friend. I’ll do my job, _Mark,_ so you just focus on doing yours.”

It’s effort not to bristle at the _nerve_ on this kid, which mostly stems from the fact that Mark’s impressed and fucking furious because of it. He turns away sharply as BamBam comes running up to plaster a peaceful smile on his face.

“Tuan!” BamBam shrieks happily as he bounces over, barreling into Mark’s legs and squeezing. It drives away some of the cold _wrongness_ in Mark’s chest.

“Hey kid,” he pats BamBam’s head. “Ready for school?”

BamBam jumps back with a nod, then does a double-take at Jimin. “I don’t know you,” he blurts out. Mark can’t help but smirk. Then Jackson joins them, tugging the cuffs of his suit to sit in perfection. He’s wearing a cobalt blue one today. Mark resents how he notices stuff like that, or the way Jackson never fails to wear a small smile in the presence of his son. Doing what Mark does, it’s impossible to not notice the tiny details. When it comes to Jackson Wang, however, Mark could stand to notice a little _less_.

“This is my new driver, Bammie,” Jackson explains, eyes on Jimin. “Park Jimin, right?” He holds out his hand, Jimin grabbing it in both of his respectfully and with a small bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Jackson grimaces at the formality, taking his hand back. “Any chance you’ll call me Jackson?”

Jimin shakes his head with a steel face. “Afraid not, sir.”

To Mark’s joy, BamBam pipes up with a matter-of-fact voice. “It’s because you’re old, dad.”

The betrayal on Jackson’s face is hilarious, but Mark’s still trying to psyche out the new guy which means it takes herculean effort not to burst out laughing. BamBam’s angelic smile doesn’t help, nor does Jackson’s affronted huff.

The smile present in Jackson’s voice only has BamBam grinning more.

“This little rascal’s my son, BamBam,” Jackson introduces him to Jimin, patting BamBam’s head with one hand. “You’ll be seeing him around a lot, as well as Tuan, who I guess you just met.” Jackson shoots Mark a questioning glance meaning the man saw a little more of what just transpired than Mark would have liked him to. Oh well. He gives a tiny shake of his head.

_Nothing to worry about._

Jackson nods minimally, immediately relaxing his shoulders. His trust does something funny and somewhat nauseating to Mark’s stomach.

_Shit._

BamBam breaks the silence, crossing his arms and glaring as well as he’s able at Jimin. “So, you’re going to protect my dad from the bad guys.”

 _Ah_. Mark notes the uncomfortable look on Jackson and figures the man told BamBam at least _some_ of what happened last night.

Jimin crouches to BamBam’s eye height. “Yes,” he promises with a soft look.

BamBam keeps his eyes wary and Mark is _proud._ He bites his lip to hide his grin, almost failing when he catches Jackson’s disbelieving look at seeing his son stare down a man twice his size.

Eventually BamBam nods, uncrossing his arms. “Good, because if you don’t, I’ll- I’ll send Tuan after you.” He looks shyly at Mark, begging the guard with his eyes to back him up. It’s hardly a difficult choice.

Jimin turns to look at him, and Mark smirks yet keeps his gaze as cold as he can manage. The result is enough for Jimin to flinch the tiniest bit.

_Good._

Jackson clears his throat, making a show out of looking at his watch. “Time to leave, Bammie,” he gives Mark a sharp look. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”

The admonishment on Jackson’s face is hardly enough to make Mark feel bad, but he relents anyway. As much as he doesn’t like Jimin, or the fact the boy still looks very much like a _boy,_ nothing good will come out of driving the youngster up a wall in his first few minutes on the job. He gives a small nod in apology to Jackson and the man rolls his eyes.

Jackson pulls BamBam in for a quick hug, father and son exchanging ‘I love you’s’ much easier now than when Mark first came here, and then they’re all getting into their respective vehicles.

If Mark keeps staring at Jimin for longer than necessary, he blames it on his inherent curiosity.

After he’s dropped BamBam off at school, assuring the boy that Jimin _will_ keep his father safe, Mark parks two blocks away, like always, and fishes out his phone. It buzzed during the ride over and he finds a text from Jaebeom.

**Half a threat and no violence, you’re getting soft**

Giving a blinding smile to the camera, Mark sends a selfie back in which he flips Jaebeom off.

Jackson doesn’t make it back home before nine, meaning Mark doesn’t see him or his new guard again before he’s clocking out that day. Junsoo is on night duty today, the man nearing forty but possessing a sharp eye and wicked sense of humor. Despite being well-acquainted, handing over the reigns takes more effort than Mark had expected. BamBam’s been worrying silently all day about someone coming after his father, which means Mark’s protective instincts are going haywire. Part of him is fighting to stay close-by in case BamBam gets too scared or Jimin isn’t as trustworthy as everyone thinks.

It takes five minutes of simply breathing in the dark stillness of his car before he can turn the key and drive off, a feat only made possible because as much as Mark wants to stay by his charges, he wants to fuck someone else over _more._ The name flashes in his mind as he eases out of the gate, sky overcast and threatening rain in the surprisingly warm evening.

_Kwang Hyunwoo_

He has the man’s address and frequented places, even a list of known friends and allies (thank you, Youngjae). But for now, his home should be good enough. It had been surprisingly easy to figure out _why_ this guy is going after Jackson. Apparently, Youngjae had only needed to look through the list of artists that hadn’t quit made the cut, and voila.

It's possibly a bit sad, but inflated egos coupled with large amounts of money are often the cause for situations like these. On the up-side, Mark knows precisely how to deal with those people. They feel untouchable with their money stacked around them like fortress walls, but when those are inexplicably useless, the person behind them will wilt and beg with only the barest push.

Mark smirks as he eases through late-evening traffic. Time to give that push.

* * *

It’s been a long, _long,_ day. From screaming fans to three separate interviews, Hyungwoo is about ready to simply crash onto his bed and sleep for ten hours straight. He nods tiredly at the night shift standing behind the reception, some middle-aged woman he’s seen around, then steps into the elevator and barely hears the menial music as he stands fighting his closing eyes. It takes no time at all to get to the tenth floor, then he’s shuffling along the carpet lined hallway to find his apartment door. A sharp tang in the air causes him to crinkle his nose, remembering belatedly that they were repainting the building’s corridors this month. He throws a hand over his mouth as he types in his code, shuddering at the pungent smell.

Once inside, the lock bleeping closed behind him, he breaths in deep and drops his jacket on the floor, toeing off his shoes as he immerses himself in the lavender-scented candles he always places all over his house.

It’s soothing and home. He smiles.

Working on autopilot in the dark, he shuffles down the hallway and turns right to his living room, only to stop and frown at the pitch-black ceiling, barely any light filtering in past the already closed curtains. The room is nothing but a black hole with two greyish hints of where the windows are.

Why aren’t the lights turning on?

He had motion sensors installed just last month to circumvent the whole slapping-the-wall-in-the-dark issue, but now it seems the system’s already broken.

“Seriously,” he groans, “why does the world hate me!” He reaches out to his left, trying to find the edge of the wall in near blackness, when a voice deeper into the room has him freezing on the spot.

“I don’t know about the world, Kwang Hyunwoo, but you’re certainly not _my_ favorite person.”

It’s a disembodied, low rumble coming from the other end of the room. Try as he might, Hyunwoo can’t find them with his eyes. Dozens of scenarios flit through his head, most ending with him dead, and he whimpers softly, shuffling back in a half-assed attempt at running. “Whoever you are,” he yells into the dark, “I’ve already contacted security!” The lie emboldens him. He puffs out his chest and forces himself to stop shaking. “You don’t want to mess with me,” he adds sharply. His eyes still scour the darkness, yet nothing moves or even seems to _breathe._

The voice is closer without warning. “You’re cocky,” it hisses disapprovingly, causing Hyunwoo’s legs to quiver, “you’re dumb and you’re young. Not the best combination.”

“What do-what do you want!” He stutters, trying to find how close they are and shuffling nearer the wall to desperately locate the light switch.

“It won’t work,” the voice cuts in casually. “The power will come back in a few minutes, but for now it’s just us. Security has no idea I’m up here, and they never will.”

_Not good, not good._

“Please,” Hyunwoo changes tack, tears not even a lie as he sniffles. “What do you want from me?”

For the first time the darkness moves. In the blink of an eye, a black silhouette presses into Hyunwoo’s personal space, something cold and sharp comes to rest at his neck, the man holding him captive against the wall.

Hyunwoo cries out, fear making his voice high and his sobs ugly. “No, no, please, no!”

“I’m not going to kill you,” the man promises with a low voice. All Hyunwoo can see are eyes glittering right in front of him, the rest varying shades of dark. He swallows and presses his trembling limbs into the wall as if he can assimilate with the stones and escape this demon. The knife presses harder, cold metal on his exposed throat. Hyunwoo sobs.

“I’m going to warn you,” the man growls, completely indifferent to his fear. “Stay far away from Jackson Wang, or I’m going to come back. Do you understand?”

“Wha-” Hyunwoo tries desperately to understand what’s going on. Jackson Wang? How could this person even know _anything_ about that! “I didn’t-” he begs, but the knife cuts into his skin and he screams again, pressing flush against the wall. “Please, please!”

The man leans closer, voice dropping lower. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes!” Hyunwoo squeaks out. The eyes in front of him stare directly at him, almost _through_ him, and Hyunwoo doesn’t dare to breathe. Sending some goons after Jackson had been payback for the humiliating turn-down, but Hyunwoo only did it because he’d been told Jackson doesn’t _do_ personal security or threats like this.

The last thing he expected was a back-lash of this magnitude.

“I’m sorry,” he adds in desperation, anything to make the devil-eyes back off. His heart stutters in his chest, throat stinging where he got cut. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“I bet you are,” the man hisses, then disappears just as quickly as he came, voice retreating back into the darkness and leaving Hyunwoo leaning against the wall with trembling legs.

“My warning is a one-time deal. If you don’t listen to it, I’m going to be a lot less nice.”

Hyunwoo nods, voice gone as he flicks his eyes left and right to ascertain what the man is doing. A sudden presence next to him has him screaming, backing away only to trip over his own feet and end up sprawled on the floor, hip stinging and hand up as a shield.

“Relax,” the voice practically scoffs. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d never see me coming.”

Which hardly does anything to make him _relax,_ because Hyunwoo can barely see anything as is. After a moment of silence the front door opens, then bleeps shut, Hyunwoo catching nothing but a glimpse of someone in all black.

As promised, the lights turn on mere moments after the man leaves. Hyunwoo is still sitting on the floor, fear running through his veins and bringing sweat to his back.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself. The lights burn his eyes but he turns his head to make sure he’s alone, then falls back on the floor and cries. Death just breezed by, and Hyunwoo managed to escape with nothing but the smallest of cuts on his throat. Staying away from Jackson Wang is a small price to pay if it’ll keep Hyunwoo off this man’s radar.

* * *

Mark could’ve taken the fire-escape and made a dramatic exit, but asking Youngjae to simply lapse the elevator and entrance footage for ten minutes has much less change of him freezing his ass off. He puts in earbuds on the elevator and pretends to be engrossed in his phone when he gets to ground level. There’s no one but the friendly woman at the desk, and Mark nods at her as he makes his way out. She smiles at him.

When he’s back in his car, he sends Jimin a text, having pestered Jaebeom into giving his number. (He could’ve asked himself, but Mark still doesn’t like the guy much. Jaebeom said he’s being too much of a five-year-old who’s been told he needs to start sharing his favorite toy. Mark flipped him off again.)

**Let me know if the baseball bats show up again. I’ll deal with it.**

Before he can even turn the key, his phone buzzes.

**Yes, sir, Mr Protective!**

Mark hates how he snorts at that. Jimin’s a little shit, but then Mark has a soft spot for little shits, which ... fuck. Because Mark really wants to dislike Jimin and the amount of time the other now spends with Jackson. Mark’s never been very good at sharing things he feels strongly about, has been possessive and protective about his friends for as long as he can remember, and knows this only gets worse when it’s someone he’s in love with.

…wait, what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, this is finally developing some sort of plot, but please don't expect too much from me. This whole series came from a random snippet I wrote about guardMark, and we still haven't even gotten to it yet. Which is another reason why I'm so slow, because I'm basically working on what I wrote first (which happens later) and now have to quickly write everything that needs to happen BEFORE. ... oh, the joy of writing random stuff.
> 
> Anywho, I hope this make someone laugh or smirk or happy in any way, and please leave a comment about what you think!!


End file.
